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Head Games Pt 4
In which Tailor approaches Callahan yet again and there is a modicum of professionalism followed by quiet surprised at this fact. Initial Setting: Med Bay Timeline: Preceded by --- Head Games Pt 3 A slow calm breath, and Tailor raps on the door loud enough to be heard without being an arse about it. Somehow, that's important. He wonders how easy it is to identify people by means other than seeing them. Depends on who it is. "Callahan?" Dr Tailor really does miss when this was solely his own office. Suppose that luck had to run out eventually. A "What?" with a bit of an edge of a certain I'm-tired-go-away quality to it rings out from the other side. Yep, it's the right medic, at least. "Not making the same mistake I did last time." Well, that's one way to start a friendly conversation. He rests his hand on the doorknob but to hell with opening it. He should be asleep right now, he thinks with a glance at the wall clock. The alternative would be bothering Callahan after the man was off duty. And that hadn't really worked. So staying up after night shift it was. "Are you in there because you're on shift or just avoiding the general twatdom comprising the rest of this team?" "Aye," comes the extremely helpful answer. Dr Tailor is used to being the difficult one. This is... well, it certainly keeps people away. Which he surmises makes himself slightly less 'people'-ish as he opens the door and pokes a head and a shoulder into view. "I'll take that as 'both'." tucked under his arm is a folder with HNO in bold letters along the bright coloured tab - Harvey's, nodoubt. Zach looks to be lacking in his usual levels of nonsense, though the two medic's short history had made it clear that this was entirely by choice and not just a lack of sleep. Callahan's own bullshitting levels seem to hinge vaguely on the seesaw of 'horrendously unpersonable' and wherever those trench-deep black rings under his eyes comes from. "Hm. It's you," he says, and it lacks warmth -- but also bite. Well, he's here now. "Mmmyep." How to word this... he steps into the office properly and takes up residence on the available chair, opposite Callahan. "Do you still want to help with Harvey?" unspoken, it's really a 'can you help me', without dragging a highlighter over the mess he made of this topic the last time it came up. It's about as tactful as he can make this. He's a problem, but he's not Harvey - and that's what he intends to keep this about. He places the folder on the desk. Callahan rubs his face. Time to... urgh, time to ignore last night and how it was spent counting the cracks in the ceiling, and certainly not sleeping. That'd be a fucking luxury by now. "I have some experience wi' rehabilitation, bu' no' th' wide expertise I expect th' boy will be needin'." He eyes the folder. This is a... it's not a peace offering, there's no war here. Please. It's just a professional question. "I kin help, t'th extent o' me abilities," he shrugs. Yes. Right. He gently pushes his glasses back up his nose, accomplishing little. "Hhh, likewise. I'm trying to catch Dane at a time when we're both working, he can give an engineer's perspective -" he cuts himself off, one direction at a time was all he wanted to bother with. "Really, I just need help getting him to take his seizure medication- it it can't be me pushing him." he allows himself to pull a face, a very tiny shake of the head that makes it damn clear there's a lot of reasons for that. Dr Tailor is relying on Callahan to continue not caring about things that aren't specifically his job for this one. Callahan mumbles "Not keen on pills, is he?" Somehow this conversation has yet to make Tailor feel worse. "He was sorry about it the entire time, but that was about all. I don't want to guilt him about it on top of everything else." he thumbs the edge of the folder, thinking back. Callahan looks up shortly. "It shouldn' be a 'guilt issue'. It shou'd be part o' his damn treatment." He picks at the corner of the folder on the desk. "'s far as I remember, he weren't on 'em fer very long..." He frowns. Dr Tailor's fingers curl up, away from the folder. "Yes - he. Exactly. I wrote down dates for how long he was definitely on them, and..." a soft hiss inward through his teeth, "then he stopped. I did explain how these things take time, and he wouldn't budge. I don't think he ever means to make things difficult, it just... was. I'm not sure how to convince him without getting pushy." Callahan "Then ye will havetae get pushy," Callahan says calmly and swiftly opens the folder with a soft hiss of air. "He seems... reasonable." Dr Tailor bears his teeth a fraction further, "It can't be me." Callahan flips a page in the journal in front of him. "Allright. Ye focus on tha' bloody headset y'r so keen on, an' I'll siddown an' have a chat with th' boy. Wou'd y'put him in th' office or the room fer that?" He taps the table, thinking. Not that pushing duties onto Callahan is what he wants to do right now (it doesn't go over well) - his regret is only a hint in his words. "If you can call that 'keen' - yes. That would be better... He'll sit in the medbay if he has to, but I think he's more talkative outside of it. Less formal works better with him." and up until recently, 'less formal' has let Zach do a lot for Harvey where other medics remained, well. Defined by their job, and not regular old people. He hopes Callahan's room-mate situation does the same for Harvey's perception of him. "Yes, 'keen'. 's exactly what I'd call that. Let's make a detour fer once, here, Tailor--" Callahan looks up, a little stern, a little sour-looking. A lecture is brewing. Dr Tailor doesn't like where this is going, but if it was going somewhere new he would be more distressed at the novelty. "Yes?" This is for Harvey. "I'm a doctor. Of sorts. I help people. It's me job, regrettably. So, o' course I'll help ye when y'bring..." he makes a vague gesture at the folder "... this. Last time, y'tried t'shove th' headset in my hands like y'were expectin' a goodie or a pat on th' head fer no' bein' completely incompetent." He narrows his eyes at Tailor. "'s if it was more about provin' a point than gettin' anywhere. I can't say I fuckin' appreciate that." Hackles instantly raise - or would if he had them. Okay, fine. This had to happen, he supposes. He voices a scrap of self-defense with a heavy dose of staying calm. "I didn't really appreciate being ripped at for trying; given you seemed so adamant about where it had gotten to previously. I'm tired of getting my shite in people's way though. I won't be pulling any more of that." No wall clock in here to glance at. Hmm. Callahan just nods and opens the folder again, like that's settled. "I think I'll wait a bit wi' pushin' th' painkillers," he voices after a brief period of silence. Dr Tailor waits a beat. "He's a lot less reluctant with the short-term fixes." The quiet tumbles back in, he hums once, considering things. "All things considered, this could have gone worse. At least he's not abusing them. I'll see what Dane and I can come up with... unless you have reason to think he's a poor choice of engineers to go to?" He really has little else to offer. Callahan "I don' know th' man," comes the simple reply. "Tha's your call." There's nothing in the voice that either condemns nor redeems that statement. Only cold neutrality. Ever not wanting to take on more work than he has to, Callahan. "Okay." It's quick, light, and utterly content to not not pursue the line of questions further. A sort of neutrality on his part, too. "Do you want this?" He's scooped his gloveless hand around the base of the folder. He'd rather the damn thing stay in the medbay, and leaving it with Callahan probably meant he wouldn't be able to find it for a couple days. Callahan getoverittailor.jpg Dr Tailor never over it Dr Tailor oh man move everything around at the desk Dr Tailor rearrange all of it Callahan throws desk over Callahan rearrange that Dr Tailor fuuuuu "Aye." Callahan rubs his chin. "Fer two days or so. Not fer long." He peers at Tailor. seems to ponders something. Then, a settled sort of expression falls over his face, and the unsociable neutrality looks almost... cooperative. Around the edges. "Anythin' else, now's th' time while we're bein' so open and professional," he says with a modicum of dry humour. Thumb on the folder, Tailor's fingers let go, flicking the folder back down on the table with a conclusive little 'plap'. "If I have to be open again, I hope it's because I'm in surgery." No offense intended, but your humour is bloody challenging to spot. "Considerin' th' rumours I been hearin'? Yeah. I'd believe tha'." His eyes trails down to the folder, and... travels down to the hand still on it. halfcircle of little marks. A bite. Callahan lifts an eyebrow. No real reason to. It's a farm area. There'll be animals running loose, by virtue of circumstance. He just. Notices. Dr Tailor doesn't move his hands off the table as he leans back in the office chair. No way was that mark from any animal. "Rumours?" he repeats. He's used to people being a little less obvious when they're looking him over for any reason. He wonders if he's too tired to get the hell out of here already. He decides yes, yes he is, and it's a shame he can't pass out on the small cot that's right there in the room. Callahan lets his eyes pass over the mark a bit longer, unashamedly. If people have a problem, they'll do well to cuss at him for it. Hm. fairly rectangular marks. Smallish. Human. Somebody bit the hand that fed them? He decides he probably doesn't care either way but misses having his shilleagh with him to fend off bitey buggers. "People dyin'," Callahan says. Then rethinks his words and adds: "Permanently." Not rumours about Tailor, well that's ...nice, actually. That is weirdly nice. Still doesn't discount the staring, but neither does he want to start giving a hoot. "Yea that's not supposed to happen here, or so I'm told." Callahan looks like one foot in the grave on a good day, he'd be surprised if the other hasn't 'met' respawn by now. Callahan shakes his head. "Figures." Don't fall off any trains, be hideously unlucky, or walk outside respawn limits. "Complicated business. ...I'm going." Tailor's breath hinges on a successfully stifled yawn. Most mistook those skull and crossbone warnings to mean 'do not enter'. 'Do not exit' was more truthful. He didn't want to blurt out thank yous to this man. Still; he hoped this helped his friend and that he wouldn't have to start talking about what really happened. "...good luck with Harvey." "I shoudn't be needin' it." It carries more than a dismissal. Rather the belief that Harvey will only need a stern push in the right direction. Doctors aren't allowed to admit out loud how often they rely on luck rather than skill. It tends to... unsettle people. Edge of the door in hand, it felt odd to Tailor leaving his office. His. Hah. He'd have to move a few things unrelated to luck once it was his shift again. He looks at the thin medic, brows raised and no words, and decides that plus a firmly-shut door ought to be enough well-wishing for a while.